


When the Sun Meets the East

by easterlystars



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Split Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20701829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easterlystars/pseuds/easterlystars
Summary: The band is breaking up, and Yunho struggles to cope with all that he's lost. Set in 2009-10.





	When the Sun Meets the East

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this fic as a way to deal with my own anxiety. It went from being therapeutic to being stressful because I've realized that I can't just end a fic halfway, lmao. So IDK, this fic is probably a mess and doesn't make much sense. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But remember, as bad as anxiety feels, it is a natural way of life. It is something that we may not be able to prevent, but it is something that we can learn to embrace with open arms. Turn it into your best friend. Think positively, and everything will be okay in the end. ([tumblr](http://easterlystars.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](http://twitter.com/easterlystars/))

Yunho had refused to believe it at first. When he first got the call from their manager that there was a possibility—a high possibility—likely, Yunho, it’s _likely_—that three of his bandmates would file a lawsuit against their company, Yunho had laughed it off. There’s no way, he had told his hyung. _There’s no way._

“Yunho,” his manager had said. He must be frowning through the phone.

“They wouldn’t… why would they do that?” Yunho had said, choking with disbelief. 

“Yunho. We know they were considering it for a while.”

“No. It doesn’t makes sense.”

“It could happen, Yunho. It _could.”_

Everything was normal at first. The five of them continued to perform on stage like the old days. Continued to do radio shows and teased each other’s horrific sleeping habits, like the old days. Continued to do fashion shoots, like what they do all the time. Continued to make appearances on television and continued to endure the jest of their hosts. It was like everything that was said would happen had turned into nothing at all, and for a long time, Yunho had believed that everything would truly be fine. 

When they got news that their new single had hit number one in Japan, Yunho had released a sigh of relief. He had let his mind wander into a stream of negativity. He had let the worse case scenarios consume his mind and clog his future. His manager had been wrong. They were going to be alright.

“We’re going to crush it,” Jaejoong had told him then, a firm hand on Yunho’s shoulder. “We’re going to completely crush it.”

Yoochun crushes the paper and chucks it into the garbage bin.

“We’re having a serious discussion and you’re drawing _cartoons?”_

It is the last day of their Tokyo Dome concert. The last day of making history as the first Korean band to hold a concert in the Tokyo Dome, and Yunho feels his heart sink like an anchor. Today is meant to be a day of excitement, of passion, of dedication, of success and pride, but instead, it has resorted to being a day of fear.

“I’m writing lyrics,” Changmin grits back at his older bandmate.

Yoochun flattens his palms on the table and leans in, eyes narrow and dark as if he’s ready to strangle Changmin on the spot. “Fuck. Your. Damn. Lyrics.”

Changmin falls back into his chair and glares at Yoochun.

Jaejoong sighs from across the conference table. “Do we have to do this today?”

“Absolutely,” Junsu asserts. “It’s been going on for months. Let’s not postpone this any longer.” 

Yoochun leans against a wall. He looks straight at Yunho—the authority figure, the leader, the person with answers. 

But Yunho has none. 

“So? What do you think?” Yoochun asks him. 

Yunho lets out a shallow sigh. He’s exhausted, stressed, tense. The conference room feels much smaller now, and it’s suffocating him. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

“Yunho—” Jaejoong starts.

“Don’t _Yunho_ me,” Yunho snaps at him, finally feeling the anger building up in his chest like a balloon waiting to burst. “Are you guys out of your minds? Suing the company?”

“Have you not heard a single thing we’ve trying to tell you these past few weeks?” Junsu cries.

Yunho has. He’s been hearing every single conversation, every word, every damn whisper. He’s already made up his mind, but he doesn’t have the heart to say it out loud. Not now. At least not right now.

“I just don’t feel good about it,” he says instead.

“We already gave you guys time to think about it,” Yoochun points out. “What don’t you feel good about?”

“It’s just… it’s the last concert, Yoochun,” Yunho says, trying to quell down both the unsettling fear and the sizzling anger that's bubbling in his stomach. “Let’s just talk about this later okay?”

“Later, later, it’s always later,” Yoochun cries irritably, voice rising. “You say that all the time! When will be later?”

“It's just not the right time.”

_“When_ is the right time then?”

“Just—”

Junsu yells out in frustration at kicks the wall. “Goddammit, _hyung!_ When is the right time?”

“After the concert!” Yunho roars back, propelling to his feet.

Changmin jumps up in fiery fury, his chair slamming into the back wall as he storms toward the door.

Jaejoong is also on his feet. “Where are you going?”

“To write my fucking lyrics.” 

Changmin slams the door shut.

The door flies open. The founder of SM Entertainment steps into the meeting hall with a heavy frown hanging on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, with eyes looking distant and dim, as if he’s surviving on every last bit of battery energy that’s left in him.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he says, rushing to take his spot in the conference room, a large cup of coffee in hand. “Got held up at another meeting.”

“Don’t worry, sir, we just started,” CEO Kim says from across the meeting table.

Lee Soo-man crosses his arms and sighs. “So, it’s happening.”

Kim’s face turns grim. “It’s submitted.”

“Did you know about this?”

Lee Soo-man is looking at Yunho with a mixture of concern and indignation. Yunho can’t seem to look at him straight in the eye. He’s finding it harder to breathe now, like he is stuck inside a vacuum that is slowly leaking air. “I didn’t think they’d go through with it.”

“I mean, we’ve always known that they had… concerns,” says Cho carefully, the head of HR. “But it happened so quickly. We just weren’t prepared.”

“We need lawyers,” says the SM founder. “Lots of lawyers.”

“What about TVXQ?” asks Changmin. “Will the band be okay?”

All air has now leaked out of Yunho’s vacuum. He stares absentmindedly down at the table, his brain feeling like mush, his heart beating fast as if to pull back the oxygen that he has lost. He grips his thighs.

“Of course the band will be okay, Changmin,” says Kim. “This incident itself won’t be disintegrating the band.”

Yunho knows that the CEO is being very selective with his words.

Jaejoong stutters over his words, a loss at what to say.

All five of them are standing, face to face, in the main Avex conference room. It has been several months since the three have dropped all contact with SM, several weeks since the band’s last performance together, and a week since they had all changed their numbers so Yunho and Changmin couldn’t contact them.

_Protocol,_ was the excuse.

But now the five of them are together once again, and the room feels tense, foreign. They had not seen each other in weeks, and for the first time in a very long time, Yunho doesn’t miss them.

Not at all.

“I—” Jaejoong starts, looking afflicted. “Um—”

Yoochun steps in. “I’ll say it.”

Jaejoong shrinks back, but he doesn’t look all that much relieved. Yoochun clears his throat.

“There’s still a second chance,” he says softly but confidently, though he’s not looking at Yunho in the eye. “Come with us. Please.”

“No,” says Yunho.

Yoochun sighs loudly through his nose and turns back to Jaejoong. “See? I called it. They’re not going to come with us.”

Jaejoong looks gaunt and sullen, like he hasn’t slept in days. “I really don’t want the band to break.”

“You did that the moment you signed.”

“I’m sorry but did you not read the contract?” Junsu interjects. “We’ve all talked about how messed up it is. How could you do this?”

Yunho had stayed calm up to this point, but now, he’s ready to burst. He glares at Junsu, fists in his pockets, resisting the urge to punch him in the face. _Why won’t they understand? Why don’t they see it?_

He takes in a deep breath and feels it—again—like he’s trapped in vacuum that’s leaking air. He needs to breathe. Desperately.

“I will not sue my company,” Yunho says, tone final. He sits down. Changmin follows suit, in silent agreement.

“It wasn’t supposed to end up like this,” Jaejoong says.

“Well it did,” Yunho asserts weakly, voice croaking with fatigue. “And I’m sorry.”

The weeks pass by like months, and the months drift on like years. Like a swinging pendulum, Yunho’s days are repetitive, predictable, consistent. 8 a.m. Wake up. 9 a.m. Gym. 10 a.m. Breakfast. 11 a.m. Read. 12 p.m. Lunch.

3 p.m. Wash dishes. 4 p.m. Documentary. 5 p.m., and Yunho stares into his wall, a can of beer in his hand. He’s never particularly enjoyed drinking, but during monotonous days like this, maybe some drinking would make his day feel less numb and more exciting. 

He sighs and turns on the TV. SBS _Inkigayo_ is playing. Three girls wearing matching pink polka dot dresses are dancing against a bright pink backdrop. Voices are harmonizing. Dancing is in sync.

Orange… Coffee? Orange Candy? Yunho’s vision blurs. He suddenly can’t make out the name on screen. He’s shaking now, as if he’s been thrusted into a pool of ice water. His breath turns shallow, his heart thumping like crazy. He claps a hand over his chest. He feels as if his heart is trying to tear through his ribs. He squeezes it. It needs to stop. It has to stop.

The stage, the lights, the voices. It’s piercing through Yunho’s ears and mind, and he can’t stop it. Make it stop. Someone make it stop.

The doorbell rings, breaking the tension.

“Hyung?” 

It’s Hyoje’s voice.

Yunho closes his eyes to calm himself down. He sets down his beer, shakes his head, and slaps his forehead. “Wake up,” he mumbles to himself.

“Hey,” Hyoje says as Yunho opens the door. “How are you?”

Yunho shrugs. “As good as can be.”

Hyoje offers Yunho a concerned look. “You’ve been indoors all week. Let’s hang out today. It’s Sunday, after all.”

“Um…” Yunho scratches the back of his neck. “I can’t today, man. I need to clean my apartment.”

Hyoje’s eyes briefly roam behind Yunho before looking back at him. He smiles. “It can wait.”

Yunho smiles back. “Thanks, but next time, Hyoje.”

Next time, Yunho doesn’t turn on the TV.

He’s lost count of the days. Has lost count of the weeks.

He sits in a random bus. He stares at out at the window, eyes glazing past the street lights, past the pedestrians, the buildings, the cars. He sees everything yet doesn’t see anything at all. He hears silence. He feels nothing.

He wants to see where the bus will take him, so he doesn’t get off the bus until it reaches the terminus. He catches another bus, and sees where that one takes him. He catches another bus, and another, and another, and another, until the sun sets and the crowd thins. Until the night falls.

It is a full moon tonight. The moon is so bright, the streets won’t need lamps to light up its path.

If Yunho follows the moonlight, will he be able to reach its end? 

“This is the last stop, kid.”

Yunho gets pulled out of his trance. The bus is empty. The lights are dimmed and the air conditioning is shutting down, ready to sleep for the night. 

The bus driver turns to look at Yunho from his seat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” says Yunho, feeling slightly dazed. He walks down the aisle with effort, as if his feet are getting glued to the floor. “I’m sorry, thank you.”

“Watch your step, kid,” the bus driver says as Yunho makes his way down the steps.

“Wait—” Yunho spins back around, hands gripping the door handle. “I-I’m sorry, but—where are we?” 

“Hwayang.”

“What?” Yunho cries, heart dropping in panic. He reaches for his phone and frantically scrolls through his contacts. It’s the middle of the night. Most public transit is already closed for the day and Yunho has no car and now—also—a dying phone. “But I need to get back to Apgujeong!”

“You can catch a taxi,” the bus driver suggests.

“Yunho-hyung?”

Yunho whips around.

It’s Changmin, standing a few feet behind Yunho. He’s staring at Yunho with large round eyes, his jaw slack with surprise.

Yunho immediately looks away. He feels himself turn red. It’s been several months since they’ve last seen each other, and their last meeting did not exactly end up on a good note. And now, Changmin is seeing him in his worst state—no phone, no wallet, and not even wearing the right clothes for the right weather—it’s embarrassing.

Yunho stares down at Changmin’s feet and smiles shortly in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” asks Changmin.

Yunho looks up and sees a backpack slouched over Changmin’s shoulder. Hwayang. This must be near Changmin’s university.

“Can you take me home?” he asks his bandmate, eyes locked on a spot on Changmin’s shoulder. His own voice feels rough on the edge, distant, like he hasn’t talked in years, and he hates it. Hates hearing his own voice. Hates it even more when Changmin is the first person he has to talk to in days.

It takes a moment for Changmin to register what he had asked.

“Um. Yeah.”

Changmin is silent as he drives Yunho back to his apartment complex, and Yunho finds himself too exhausted to strike up a conversation. Truthfully, he’s never had to. Changmin’s always had this aura of quiet efficiency—this ability to talk to Yunho without ever having to say a single word out loud. Yunho never had to tell Changmin anything. They could just read each other’s minds, like reading an open book.

But this time, Yunho can’t read him. Yunho doesn’t even want to read him, because deep down, he doesn’t want to know what Changmin thinks of him. He rather stay in the dark, hide in a corner, and never come out. It is where he belongs now.

But the silence is deafening.

It isn’t until they reach Yunho’s floor when Changmin finally speaks up.

“Why were you taking the bus?”

More questions. People are always asking him questions that Yunho can’t answer.

“I haven’t taken public transport in a long time so I wanted to check it out,” Yunho says as he unlocks his door. He’s probably lying. He doesn’t even know anymore.

Changmin doesn’t question it. “I see.”

Changmin walks into the apartment after him, and that feeling comes back to Yunho. That suffocating sensation of being stuck inside a tight, leaking vacuum, and he’s desperately grasping for air. Changmin’s arm brushes over his and it shocks him. Yunho stumbles into his living room. Doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes.

Yunho knows Changmin’s staring at him from the entryway, and Yunho’s finding it harder to breathe.

“Sorry for the mess,” Yunho says, back facing Changmin, looking everywhere else but the man standing at his door. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“We haven’t seen each other for three months, and this is how you greet me?”

Yunho can sense a twinge of anger and resentment in Changmin’s voice, and he knows the man isn’t referring to the mess in his apartment.

“Have you even thought about seeing me?”

No. Yunho hasn’t thought about seeing anyone, and least of all seeing Changmin. He doesn’t know how to face him, doesn’t know what to even say to him, which is evident. He can barely look at Changmin in the eye without feeling the guilt consuming him, filling up his lungs. He is supposed to be the leader. The glue that holds everything together, but he was never that. He’s just a puppet with empty words and broken promises, and he doesn’t want to destroy Changmin any more than he already has.

“Never mind,” Changmin says, turning away. “Good night, hyung.”

So this is what it feels like to be mundane.

To wake up every single morning with nothing to do but to stare at the window, to watch the rain fall, watch the cars go by, watch the birds disappear into the clouds. Yunho has dreamt about this before, of how good it feels to wake up on a sunny morning with a fresh mind, ready to seize the new day, but then that dream quickly turns into a nightmare. Yunho feels his stomach drop, like he’s spinning down a black hole with no end to reach. 

This life of banal simplicity and solitude. Yunho thought he would hate it. He hates having nothing to do, hates wasting his life away, but instead of loathing, he feels nothing. No discontentment. No dissatisfaction.

He just feels nothing.

Yunho isn’t sure if he would ever be able to feel anything again.

“This is going to be a very candid meeting. There were no discussions, just conversations.”

They are back at the company, hold up in an office for an urgent meeting not unlike the meetings they’ve had before. 

“What conversations are we talking about?” asks Yunho.

“You know, it’s been a few months already,” says the CEO “I think it’s about time that we start rebranding the group.”

Changmin sits up straighter. “What?”

“Again, I want to stress: there were no discussions. Just conversations. Nothing is set yet, and we don’t want to start on anything without asking you guys first.”

“Just what are they?” Yunho asks again. 

“We were talking about possibly adding more members to the group. To have a fresh restart.”

There’s a beat of tense silence, and Yunho considers the suggestion. Yunho hasn’t had work in months, and during those times he’s considered quitting altogether. There’s no point of staying in this industry if he has to continue waiting passively for work to be handed to him, when he knows that everyone has stopped caring, when everyone has already moved on. He knows he's pretty much irrelevant outside of his group. He’s given himself second chances, third chances—carefully selected, but chances nonetheless—and they have all just made Yunho realize how useless he actually is without having four other voices there to support him.

But if TVXQ can be revived, with a new start, with entirely new faces, then maybe, just maybe, Yunho will finally get a second chance that will work.

“No,” says Changmin.

The CEO looks at Changmin pointedly. “No as in…”

“I don’t want new members.”

“I think we can consider it,” says Yunho.

“What?” Changmin cries out incredulously, eyes so large that he almost looked inhuman. “Do you hear what’s coming out of your mouth, hyung?”

Yunho shrugs. “I mean… it’s not a completely bad idea. People have always known TVXQ as a group, not a duo.”

Changmin’s looking at Yunho with so much shock that he doesn’t even know how to respond.

Their manager, Kyungjae, clears his throat. “Excuse me, but can I have a private word with Yunho and Changmin?”

The chairman excuses them out of the room.

“Are you two okay?” Kyungjae whispers after he is sure they are out of earshot. “You guys have been acting strange.”

Yunho’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah, we’re fine,” he lies effortlessly.

He hears Changmin’s bitter snort beside him. “Yeah. What he said.”

“Honestly, even I thought that idea was ridiculous,” says Kyungjae.

“You really don’t think we can make it as a duo.”

Yunho turns to face Changmin. The younger man looks gloomy, but pensive. His round eyes survey Yunho like he’s trying to scan him, read him. It makes Yunho uncomfortable, because now he knows Changmin has never lost that ability to read his mind.

“I’m sorry if I offended you—”

“No, I’m not offended. Just disappointed.”

Yes. Of course. Once again, Yunho has disappointed everyone. He is a disappointment. Always has been, always will be.

But this time could be different. This time, maybe, just maybe, this will be the time that Yunho can fix everything. Make everything right again.

“Changmin—”

“The group that _you_ worked so hard for. You’re just going to give it all away?”

“I’m not giving it away. I’m still going to be in it. And this could just be the way to revive the band.”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking but we can’t go back to what we used to be.”

“But people can’t forget—”

“THEN LET THEM!”

Changmin is shouting now. The board members inside the conference room have all turned their heads to look at them. Second by second Yunho feels his heart racing faster, each beat acting like race cars driving as fast as they can to crash through his ribcage.

“They can hear your, Changmin,” he mutters frantically, panic brewing in his stomach, but Changmin ignores him.

“Hyung, I don’t know if anyone has already told you this, but you have to talk to someone. Preferably a professional, but talk to someone. Anyone.”

Yunho gapes at him. He doesn't understand why Changmin is suddenly changing the subject and turning it all on him. They’re now being given a chance to restart their careers. Why is this just about him now?

“No, I’m fine.”

“You have to stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t even your fault.”

“I _said_—I’m fine!” Yunho hisses, blood boiling, anger rising despite himself.

“Well, you’re being too defensive for someone who’s fine—”

“I’m not a fucking coward like you. I can solve my own problems.”

The hallway falls dead silent. Nothing but the buzzing of the lights and pounding of the late summer rain. Kyungjae takes in a tight breath, and Yunho has forgotten that he is still there.

Everything feels surreal. 

Changmin’s jaw clenches, nostrils flaring, eyes burning into Yunho.

For the first time in a long time, Yunho has never seen Changmin this angry.

“Alright,” Changmin resigns. “We’re done.”

Changmin’s not there with him, but Yunho feels it. Feels the hurt he had inflicted on Changmin. Feels that he has let Changmin down. The shame consumes him, like a tidal wave washing over him to drown him, and it’s painful. So this is how pain feels like.

He’s already lost his career. He doesn’t want to lose Changmin too.

He stops on Changmin’s street, sees the fried chicken shop below his apartment complex and buys the entire menu. Grabs a few bottles of beer from the convenience store. He remembers Changmin likes chicken, and he also remembers that Changmin likes to drink. He can still read that, at least.

The last time Yunho visited Changmin and his family, they were still living in Dobong. To Yunho’s knowledge, Changmin has moved several times since then, to decrease the commute between home and the company’s location in Apgujeong. Yunho just hadn’t realized that Changmin had moved this close to him until he asked their manager.

After the ring of a doorbell, a few knocks, and suppressing the lurking feelings of regret, Changmin finally opens the door for Yunho.

The younger man crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe. “So you’ve managed to ignore me for three months, but I can’t even stay away from you for three days. I guess you won.”

Yunho preoccupies himself with staring at a crinkly spot on Changmin’s T-shirt. “It was never a competition.”

“Oh, it isn’t? I thought everything’s a competition to you.”

Yunho finally makes eye contact with him.

“Can I come in? This is getting heavy.”

Changmin grumbles a response and moves aside for Yunho to step into his apartment for the first time. It’s small, but clean and quaint. Very much like Changmin’s style.

“What are you doing here anyways?” Changmin asks as he closes the door.

Yunho toes off his shoes and turns around to face Changmin. “I’m here to apologize.”

Changmin cocks an eyebrow. His eyes then fall on the bags of takeout food and drinks that Yunho’s been holding. “You’ve brought chicken,” he states. “I can’t turn you away.”

They sit down together, cross-legged at Changmin’s small coffee table. They tear open the boxes and rip through the food. They eat in silence at first—first with comfort, like how it used to be, but then the awkwardness begins to settle in, and Yunho starts to feel unnerved. Changmin’s not speaking, but he can hear Changmin talking to him. He can hear all the questions Changmin’s trying to ask him, but Yunho is saying no to all of them. He can’t answer a single one. 

Changmin looks up at Yunho from his box, gives him that searching, inquisitive look, and Yunho starts to panic again. Is it really because he can’t answer them, or is it because he can’t confront them?

It is a good thing that Yunho has the chicken to concentrate on, because he’s suddenly lost the ability to speak. 

“So this is how it feels like to be your girlfriend,” Changmin comments instead.

Yunho blinks at him, taken aback at the random topic. “I don’t think I’ve ever bought chicken for my girlfriend,” he blurts out, somewhat unabashedly.

“So I’m your first? That’s special.”

Yunho wants to retort, but he’s rendered speechless. He feels himself turn red.

Changmin smirks. He leans forward to get a closer look at his bandmate. “Nothing to say? That’s a first.”

But Yunho’s mind has already wandered off, back to a few days ago, back to when Changmin was trying to tell Yunho what he had really needed, only for Yunho to dismiss him, for Yunho to call him stupid, a coward. Fear had overtaken Yunho, shaping Yunho into becoming someone resentful, and he knows it—the fear of failure, the fear of rejection, the fear of being wrong, and now, the fear of losing Changmin.

It is all his fault. 

“I’m really sorry, Changmin. About everything, about—”

“It’s okay. I know how it feels. I feel it too.”

Yunho is surprised. He knows Changmin isn’t referring to the meeting they’ve had a few days ago.

“You gotta stop this,” says Changmin, looking worried. “Whatever you’re doing. Whatever you’re _thinking,_ you have to stop. It’s unhealthy.”

Yunho feels his heart almost stop. It’s a strange feeling, to feel both relieved yet anxious that Changmin can still read right through him like a textbook. He knows he’s not okay, that he’s not fine, and for the longest time Yunho didn’t want to confront to that realization. He didn’t want to feel useless and inferior. He is supposed to know how to deal with his issues. He is an adult, for Christ’s sake. He is supposed to be better than this.

“You have to stop blaming yourself,” says Changmin.

Yunho throat suddenly feels heavy and clogged.

“I was the leader, Changmin. I was supposed to lead, but I failed.”

“No, you didn’t. There’s still me, and you know I’ll always be with you.”

Changmin’s ears flush a violent red, and his eyes open wide with shock, like he’s just choked on a bone.

Yunho feels his own cheeks burn. A bubble swells in his chest.

“I mean, just you and me. In a group,” Changmin clarifies, between bites. "I think it’ll work.”

They decide at the next SM meeting that they will perform at the next SM Town concert in August. They each get a new song to sing, and a new dance routine to memorize. Since they’ve decided on not adding new members, the team suggests Yunho and Changmin to re-record older TVXQ songs and perform them as a duo, to test the waters.

Yunho feels good about it. Practicing in the dance studio reminds him of the old days, but in a good way. He’s putting his arms and legs back to good use, swaying and dancing in the air, like they are born to do. 

But in those long hours of practicing all night, alone in the studio, Yunho can’t help but to feel like he’s not there at all, like a chunk of his brain has gone missing and he has to focus with all his might to remain present. He turns off the music and stands closer to the studio mirror. He sees his own reflection. He’s gotten thinner, paler. His posture’s gotten worse. He hasn’t changed his clothes in days.

What if they fail? What if no one cares?

“No,” Yunho immediately tells himself out loud. He shakes his head, slaps his forehead a couple of times. He has to stay positive. For himself. For his friends, his family, the fans who have been waiting, and for Changmin, who has placed so much faith in him. This will be Yunho’s last second chance and he cannot lose it.

He won’t lose again.

It’s the day of soundcheck rehearsal, and Yunho feels ready. He’s sacrificed sleep and skipped meals just to perfect every move and curve of their dance routine. This is his—TVXQ’s—first performance in over a year, and everything has to fit right in place. Yunho has slept talk the lyrics. Has dreamt of dancing the choreography even backwards without any mistakes.

He steps onto the stage. Bright lights immediately flash toward his direction. The cameramen prepare for their cue. Yunho hears crew members relaying messages through his ear piece, but Yunho can’t seem to understand what they’re saying, like he’s hearing mumbling voices underwater. Suddenly, his entire world is spinning, sound and light mixing together, and Yunho’s free falling into darkness.

“Hyung?”

Yunho opens his eyes and sees Changmin blinking down at him.

“He’s awake!” Changmin yells at someone in the distance.

“What happened?” Yunho groans as Changmin helps him sit up. His neck and shoulders feel achy and sore.

“You passed out,” says Kyungjae as he hands him a box of juice.

Yunho rips open the straw and drinks it. The orange juice streams down smoothly, easing his dry throat.

He finishes the box in two big gulps.

“I’m okay,” Yunho says as he sees the nervous look on Changmin’s face. “I’ve just been working too many late nights. I’ll be fine after some sleep.”

Changmin’s concerned look doesn’t go away the entire rehearsal.

They run down the set list a second time the next day without flaw, and Yunho feels his confidence coming back. The sleep had really helped, he decides, and he’ll make sure to get a good, long night’s sleep before the day of the concert.

It’s now the final soundcheck before the concert. All the artists gather together to do one last rundown. Music blares through the speakers, colorful lights splash across the stage.

BoA’s singing the last segment of her song, and the assistant directors rush Yunho and Changmin to step onto the second platform, to get strapped in and prepare for lift off.

They’re not there, but Yunho hears it. He sees it. The thousands of people waving different colored fanlights below him. The angry yelling and the horrific crying—fans wailing at Yunho for breaking up the group, cursing at him for betraying his members—Yunho can almost feel the fans throwing items at him, anything they can get their hands on—food, shoes, rocks—and Yunho panics. The thumping of his heart picks up speed. It’s hitting his chest so hard he can feel every beat punching up through his eardrums.

No. He can’t do this.

Yunho steps off the platform. 

He hears Changmin calling his name, but he sounds so far.

“I—I can’t,” Yunho manages to say, and sprints away.

He runs as fast as his legs can take him, around the stage, into the makeup hall, and towards the exit. His legs feel like jello. He sees the exit but he can’t seem to make it there. He’s sinking. He slams himself against the wall and slides down to the floor. He feels his skin burning, his heart racing to impossible rhythms. Yunho desperately grasps for air, ugly sounds are coming out of his throat, but every breath he takes seems to make him thirstier for more. 

“Hyung?” Changmin cries, running to him. He sinks to his knees in front of Yunho, and it’s as if a warm blanket envelopes over Yunho. He feels his heart calming down.

“You’re having a panic attack?” Changmin asks, though it sounds more like an observation than a question.

“I don't know,” Yunho answers honestly.

“Is this your first time? When did it start?”

“I don’t know,” Yunho says again, embarrassment now kicking in, and he buries his face in his knees.

Changmin doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just stays there, on his knees, probably looking at Yunho like he’s a creep, like he’s a useless piece of shit who can’t even deal with his own problems. Changmin’s younger than him, but so much more reliable and more mature than him, and Yunho feels gross. 

“Come here,” Changmin says softly, gesturing for Yunho to stand up. He extends a hand, and Yunho takes it. Changmin leads him back through the hall and into the main stage. The stinging stage lights flash directly onto Yunho’s eyes, blinding him, and Yunho finds himself gripping onto Changmin’s hand harder. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Changmin takes him to what Yunho knows is the center of the stage and lets go of his hand. Yunho momentarily panics at the loss of contact.

“How do you feel now?”

Yunho opens his eyes. He can’t see anything but white. No flashy lights. No screams. No music. Just white.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“If you had asked me if I wanted to perform on this stage seven years ago, I probably would’ve laughed at your face.”

Yunho turns to him. In the shadows, behind that makeup and the thick mat of curly hair, Changmin appears tired and fused out, his eyes looking as dark as charcoal.

“Me, a boy who would cry whenever a stranger talks to him, can now perform in front of thousands of people. Isn't that insane?”

The lights shine on Changmin, and Yunho can finally see him clearly. He’s standing taller, his chest jutting out, shoulders leaning back. He looks confident. He looks _hopeful._

“But I got through it. Remember? You were the one who helped me see that this is possible.”

Yunho feels tears welling up in his eyes. Why? Just why can’t he see what Changmin had been seeing? Why had he been so blind?

“You were the one who told me that nothing is impossible as long as you really want it. And I know you really want this, hyung.”

Yunho covers his eyes. He can no longer control the tears from streaming down his face. He cries, cries, and cries. He cries about his fears, about his shame. It’s pathetic, he thinks. So pathetic of him to think that he can handle all of this on his own, so pathetic of him to think so selfishly, but only to see that he was never alone. He never had to be alone.

“It’s okay,” Changmin says softly, an arm around his shoulder. “You’re okay.”

Yunho and Changmin finish their set to thunderous applause. The lights dim, and they run backstage. Yunho’s grinning so hard that his face is stinging.

He catches a towel tossed to him by a crew member. He turns around and immediately throws himself onto Changmin in a tight hug.

“You did it!” Changmin cries, embracing him.

Yunho releases Changmin and takes a good look at his bandmate’s face. Sweaty, exhausted, but glowing. He wipes the sweat on Changmin’s neck with his towel.

_“We_ did it,” Yunho corrects.

Changmin smiles back at Yunho with mismatched eyes.

Warmth floods into Yunho, filling up every vein and artery. Changmin holds him closer, and in that moment, Yunho feels afresh, anew, like a new sun rising on the horizon.

Yunho brushes Changmin’s curly wet locks away from his eyes.

“Thanks, Changmin.”


End file.
